by Sarah Espigares

Created on: October 26, 2008

Joe Kuhl passed away on May 12, 2006. I was unable to attend the funeral being half way around the world. So I wrote a little note for my mom to read. This is it.
Remembering Grandpa Joe

I remember being really excited every time Gabe, Denis and I found out you were coming to visit because it meant we would have a Smartie Party and stay up late.

I remember you making virgin ceasars for me so I could have a drink with you even though I was a little girl. To this day I can't make a ceasar as good the ones you used to make for me. Not even with the vodka.

I remember reciting all of the Edmonton Oilers according to their jersey number and seeing how impressed you were. You loved your hockey.

I remember when you'd come to visit; waking up in the morning to you talking to my Ma and the smell of coffee and toast. I could hear your voice throughout the whole house.

I remember flying in your plane to go to your cool fishing camp. I remember you eating the fish I caught for breakfast the next morning and feeling really special that you picked my fish to eat.

I remember you swearing up and down the path at the fishing camp after Denis broke your quadracycle and being completely bewildered how the kid could do it.

I remember going with you to the lake with the dogs and a bar of soap and giving them a bath. You'd throw the bar of soap in the lake, the dogs would fetch it and then you'd wash them down and make them rinse in the lake. They loved it and you loved them.

I remember you watching hockey games REALLY loud and yet somehow falling asleep in front of the TV.

I remember your dirty jokes that you would tell with Nanny shouting in the background "Oh, Joe Joe!" trying to get you to stop. Best jokes I ever heard.

I remember seeing you wipe tears away from your eyes at Denis' funeral. It was the only time I ever saw you cry.

I remember sitting down with you, Miguel and my dad and polishing off an entire bottle of Covoisier Brandy and a smoked whitefish and just "shooting the shit".
None of us got up for two hours.
Not even to pee.

I remember kissing your soft, but bristly cheek goodnight as a little girl, Grandpa Joe.
I wish I could kiss your cheek goodnight one last time, but I can't. So instead I will sit down to a glass of brandy in homage and reflect on how you touched my life so richly.

Your loving granddaughter,

Sarah

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